And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed Read online

  Elinor blushed. In her confusion, she prevaricated: “I do not know how you can suppose so.”

  “Am I wrong in my surmise that you continue to care for the new Lord Seagry, in the same manner you once professed to regard Captain Johnson?”

  Hanging her head to hide the mounting redness of her complexion, Elinor uttered a quiet, “No, sir.”

  “Very well then. Frederick assures me that he continues to feel the same for you as he once so prematurely declared.”

  Unable to restrain herself, Elinor rose from her chair and proclaimed passionately, “I have no reason to suppose that he has any lasting intentions towards me, if that is what you suggest, sir, and I think such a conversation entirely premature considering the very recent nature of his bereavement!”

  “Come now, Elinor!” cried an exasperated Frederick. “Surely you cannot be so totally blind to your own best interests!”

  “Enough, sir!” barked the General. “Elinor's delicacy and respect for the mourning period is exactly what I like to see in my daughter. Anything else would be unbecoming in her, but her father need not be slave to such scruples. It is my duty to position my children advantageously, and towards that end, I intend to pay my respects to Lord Seagry and invite him to dine at his earliest convenience. I assume, Miss Tilney, that you are not adverse to seeing him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well then. I see no reason to dwell upon this sad matter further. I shall know how to proceed.”

  Elinor was thus left alone to explore the contrary sensations of sympathetic misery and hopeful flutterings that this conversation had aroused, while the gentlemen repaired to their respective quarters. Before parting, Frederick questioned his father, “Do not you believe a full mourning must be endured before an engagement might be arranged?”

  “I think that we must not be the ones to suggest anything less. However, if Seagry's feelings are as you describe, combined with the obvious duty he has, as the very last of his family, to secure the succession, I think he may find it pragmatic to overlook such protocol.”

  Frederick smiled before taking himself off to make the acquaintance of a new claret his father recently procured.

  **********

  Unaccountable as it may seem to those of more elevated hearts and minds, sometimes callous avarice proves remarkably effective in securing the happiness of not just those who would stoop to its employment, but also of those truly deserving. Such was the case for Elinor Tilney and Daniel Johnson, Viscount of Seagry. General Tilney, master strategist, quickly secured both young people in the assurance of their mutual affections, and, as he predicted, the confines of mourning were easily set aside by a young man in love. As society’s dictates proved remarkable flexible when the future of a noble house was at stake, no more than three months saw the banns read and vows exchanged, and nary a whisper of censure was to be heard on the matter.

  General Tilney had many reasons to find satisfaction in the arrangement, but by far the most prominent was the elevation of his daughter to the peerage. So elated was he when he first hailed Elinor “Your Ladyship!” that she, the master strategist’s daughter, saw an opportunity to turn his extraordinary good humor to good account, and obtained forgiveness for Henry. So generous was the General in his triumph as to grant his second son permission to be a fool if he liked, thus bestowing upon Henry and Catherine all the acceptance they required to guarantee their own happiness.

  Henry was not surprised to receive an invitation to Abbey. Elinor's marriage having freed her to correspond as readily as she chose with her disgraced brother, he was well informed regarding the General's softened sentiments. When General Tilney's summons arrived, Henry had only to be pleased, not astonished. A the given date and time he dutifully appeared, and the welcome he received from his father leaving nothing to be desired, he was quickly reestablished in his customary quarters of the ancestral home.

  It was not until the evening meal that the General broached the subject of his son's desired marriage. “Her ladyship tells me the Morlands are not as necessitous as previously believed.”

  “Elinor, as usual, is perfectly correct in her understanding, sir.”

  “Hmm,” replied the General, redoubling his attention to his food before choosing to proceed. “I understand you have been to Fullerton, a freehold property, and there made the family's acquaintance.”

  “Yes I have, sir, upon the occasion of my requesting Miss Morland's hand in matrimony.”

  “But the Morlands would not consent to the match. I admit to being rather surprised by that news.”

  “Again, sir, you prove yourself in full command of the circumstances. Though disappointed by his stance, I cannot blame Mr. Morland for being uncomfortable with an engagement while you stood in opposition.”

  “No. Nor can I.” For several minutes father and son ate in silence before the General plunged further into the matter at hand. “Miss Morland is the eldest daughter of the house?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And her elder brother, so Frederick reports, is not of robust constitution.”

  “I certainly would not describe him so. He seems hale and healthy to me, though his personality is not one which could be described as forceful.”

  “You dispute your brother's opinion?”

  “I think Frederick, living the life of a soldier, might be misled by the more subdued mannerism of one destined for the clergy.”

  “I assume he is his father’s heir?”

  “No sir. There are two brothers before him. If I understand the situation correctly, he will be the recipient of a living currently in Mr. Morland's possession, as well as a portion of equal value.”

  “Miss Morland has three elder brothers, does she?” he confirmed disgruntledly, privately lamenting their existence before asking, “And what do the other two do with themselves?”

  “I have never met either, sir, but I understand the eldest is interested in politics, having studied the law, while the next pursues a military career.”

  “A military man, eh?”

  Perceiving his father's thoughts, Henry clarified, “As you have found the occupation suitable for your own son, sir, you must know that an active parent, such as Mr. Morland, would see his child placed in a good regiment. I think he is unlikely to face heavy combat.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” replied the General, striving to hide any disappointment he felt. “And in regards to the Allens, they continue to take great interest in Miss Morland, do they not, though she is not their godchild?”

  “The Allens have been good friends to Miss Morland, but she does not have any expectation of being favored by them in Mr. Allen's will, if that is your implication, sir.”

  “She must cultivate their friendship.”

  “As her nearest neighbors, she is a great deal in their company.”

  “That is as it should be. I suppose time will tell. I wonder if they have any nephews or nieces?”

  “I cannot say, sir.”

  “Very well. Let's get to the heart of the matter. What can Miss Morland expect in way of a dowry?”

  “Three thousand pounds.”

  “It is certainly not a handsome portion, but it is something to secure her future, and perhaps time will increase her fortunes. You are your own man, sir, and I will not obstruct your chosen path, but I do ask you to consider carefully before acting imprudently. You could do a great deal better with your family and advantages than some obscure clergyman’s daughter.”

  “I assure you I have given the matter a great deal of thought, sir. Miss Morland is precisely the kind of unaffected young lady to suit my tastes. I have known far too many society women, putting on airs and false pretenses in order to attract, and I have found none appealing. Miss Morland is all candor and affection. She will make me very happy.”

  “I do not comprehend your inclinations, but I admit she is a pleasing young lady, and her prospects, as I said, may very well improve. I imagine you require some proof of
my consent to show to the Morlands?”

  “A letter would do very nicely, sir.”

  “I cannot say it is the match I would have liked for you, but you will have your letter by morning. I expect you are in rather a hurry to deliver the news?”

  “Yes, sir. If you find it convenient, I shall leave for Fullerton after breakfast.”

  The General emitted a caustic chuckle. “Yes, that is the way with young love. I just hope your enthusiasm outlasts countless children and fading bloom.”

  “As you said before, sir, time will tell.”

  **********

  No one who had ever seen Henry Tilney in his infancy would have supposed him born to be a hero, but when he came riding into the parsonage grounds two days later, he seemed every bit a Valencourt to Catherine's mind, though happily more effective and less inconvenient than Emily’s hapless lover. For these merits and more, the Morlands warmly welcomed him, and the letter from General Tilney, whose courteously worded yet empty professions were easily seen through, was greeted with glee. While Catherine, courtesy of a secret correspondence, had good reason to suspect the moment of triumph near at hand, she nevertheless received news of her engagement with all the excitement and enthusiasm one might expect, the sight of which reaffirmed in Henry's heart all his best beliefs in her character. What young man would not be moved by a lovely young lady's profession that he has made her the happiest of all creatures? Mr. Tilney had little choice but to object, insisting the title belonged to him, and a great deal of enjoyment was derived in arguing the point, an occupation to which the rest of the family was happy to abandon them.

  Henry Tilney remained at Fullerton for one week, getting to know his new brothers and sisters, enjoying the unfeigned hospitality of the Morland family, and relishing his time with Catherine, until his father summoned him homeward. Though the General was very well able to part with his younger son for the months during which he was in disgrace, now that amends had been made, he found him quite necessary to his comfort. Even had his father not written to bring him back to the Abbey, Henry would not neglect his parish any longer, his absence being both extended and unplanned. Yet while their week of pleasure lasted, the engaged couple was able to make all the needed decisions attending their impending marriage, as well as enjoying many a casual, and one highly formal, evening of entertainment with the Allens. Mrs. Allen took just as much pleasure in the match – perhaps even more so – than the Morlands. After all, it was she who had the good sense to require a pleasant young companion in Bath, and had she not been gifted with such foresight, the acquaintance could never have come about. Mrs. Allen also took it upon herself to contribute to Catherine’s wedding clothes, an act of generosity which, when he learned of it, did much to increase the General's hope of a future bequest.

  The wedding was planned for the end of the year. The young couple would have liked to marry as soon as the banns might be read, but Mrs. Morland insisted she still had far too much household information to drill into Catherine's whimsical head for the wedding to take place so very soon. Mr. Tilney, being so disobliging as to see Catherine's deficiencies as well as her charms, found his future mother's purpose rather worthy, and while expressing his disappointment at the delay, could also find humor in her characterization. The lady in question, however, took umbrage at such slander, and if Mr. Tilney had not been infallible in her eyes, his amusement might have precipitated their first real argument. Fortunately, as Henry’s opinion was with Mrs. Morland, there could be no question to the contrary, thus diverting disaster.

  The couple parted tenderly, renewing their promises to correspond, happy that concealment was at an end. “I shall write to you every day,” Catherine promised with fervor.

  Henry smiled in his sardonic way. “If you insist, I shall relish each letter, but please do not take it as a waning of my affections if you do not receive such rapid responses. There is much to do at Woodston, and I am afraid that such superficial missives, which is all you would receive if I set myself to writing daily, would not be to your liking. Will it not be far more satisfying to receive two or three truly heartfelt letters a week instead? Besides, if you must express yourself each day, you had far better put those thoughts and feelings into that journal I still have been unable get you to admit to keeping.”

  “But I truly do not keep a journal, Henry! I am not such a diligent creature as to be able to maintain such a practice.”

  “Then perhaps you should start. It would certainly be an aid to Mrs. Morland's attempts to reform your sadly lacking character.”

  “Oh! You do not mean what you say, surely?”

  “Not in regards to what matters. But if you do start keeping a journal, I might have the pleasure of seeking it out once we are married and reading all your best-kept secrets. Is not such a violation of privacy romantic? Besides, you may even find the practice helpful, once you have all a wife's household cares of which to keep track.”

  “If I am only keeping it in lieu of writing to you, I shall gladly show it to you, as it can contain nothing I would not readily profess.”

  “And are you so certain that such an attitude will survive marriage? The time may come when your feelings are very different.”

  “Never! I shall only keep a journal if you promise most faithfully to read it.”

  “In that case, how can I do anything but concede to your wishes? In return, I shall begin a journal as well, one destined for your eyes. It may not be a thrilling as Mrs. Radcliffe's tales, but perhaps you will find it a bit more edifying than history?”

  “Will you? Truly?” He nodded in response. “Now that is romantic! When we are married, we can set aside a time each evening to record and share our thoughts. Will we not be cozy in your lovely drawing room, side by side on the yellow sofa?”

  “Not as cozy as if it were green,” he laughed. “So you had rather indulge in such domestic comforts than be confined to a dank tower? You have changed these few months, have you not, my Catherine?”

  She blushed becomingly, “I think I have learned to judge at least a bit better than to crave such adventures for myself. I shall continue to enjoy reading about them, but I much prefer the honest, modern comforts of England to the dizzying emotions of Gothic adventure.”

  “Well put, my love, and will it offend you if I profess myself glad?”

  “Not a bit!”

  “Excellent,” he smiled, “for the honest, modern comforts to be had in a well-proportioned, English parsonage are all I have to offer.”

  Catherine only returned to the house several minutes after Henry rode away, having watched him long after the very last glimpse of his retreating form could be distinguished, staring longingly in the direction that he had disappeared. Mrs. Morland, who had observed much of this behavior from the parlor window, shook her head at her daughter's quixotic absurdities but did not interfere. When Catherine entered the parlor and lethargically picked up her work, her mother refrained from scolding her into better behavior. Ten children might have robbed Mrs. Morland of much of her own whimsicality, but they had not deprived her of the memories of youth, and she could still vividly recall her own sensations when being courted by Mr. Morland. Catherine, therefore, would be granted some degree of lenience, but after two hours of sighing in her chair, or, conversely, pacing the room, Mrs. Morland lost her patience.

  “Really, Catherine, what an example you set for your sisters! You should be celebrating your upcoming nuptials, now that they are guaranteed, rather than moping about in this feeble manner. Do you not have a great deal of plans to make and work to accomplish? If you cannot find productive occupation, I would be very gratified if you made an inventory of the storeroom. We shall have many causes to entertain in the near future, and we must not find ourselves unprepared.”

  “I'm sorry, Mama, and I am indeed grateful that General Tilney has bestowed his blessing, but the past week has been so lovely with Henry here, and the house just feels empty without him.”

  “Emp
ty? That would be novel.” Catherine looked hurt, and her mother said in softened tones, “It isn’t that I don’t understand your feelings, my dear, but they will not be assuaged by such indulgence. Healthy distraction is what you require. Keep your mind busy, and the time until you next see Mr. Tilney will soon pass, I assure you.”

  “I had hoped to write to him everyday, but he encouraged me to begin a journal instead.” At this recollection, Catherine's spirits rose. “He says he shall read it, and in turn, he will keep one himself for my perusal. Is it not a happy thought?”

  “Rather impractical, I should say. What use is it to a lady to record her private thoughts if they are only to be aired before her husband?”

  “I think it is a lovely idea, Mama, and Henry says that such a practice will prove useful once I have a household to run, as it will give me a place to keep track of the tasks in need of doing.”

  “Did he?” Mrs. Morland asked with interest. “I knew I liked your young man. That is a notion of which I can thoroughly approve, and it begins to make sense that he would want to read it. Taking on such a young, flighty thing as yourself, he will be able to provide much useful advise on how to best get on.”